He had cursed that day and he had pondered over and over again whether to point his gun at himself and end it once and for all. Every single day he was wondering why he hadn’t done that yet. But something was stopping him, something was holding him back. Perhaps in spite of everything, in spite of his pain, he felt he was not ready to abandon that fucked up world just yet. Or perhaps more simply, he was still a gutless bastard. When it came to getting his hands dirty with someone else’s blood, that was fine, but when it came to his…

  Why was he still so afraid of death? He had seen it in every imaginable way. He had scorched the earth around him and had made mincemeat of anyone who had tried to make him stumble. It was surprising, if not even dreadful, how far his survival instinct had taken him and how much it was still burning inside him. Always. Even now.

  They were coming. He knew. They were overly protective of their kind and quite vindictive. He had to do something. He packed his things. He had no-one left. But he knew where to stay low for a while. A cabin. In the woods. It was his grandfather’s and he had inherited it, but he never had a chance to go.

  He had never asked for much: a house not too far from the sea, a quiet life, getting bored with his partner. But it had been stripped away from him. He himself had torn it apart. And now he was being a little whiner and was procrastinating something that was not postponable.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  After what he had done, maybe he deserved to be found by them. Someone might call it karma. Someone might say he’d gotten what he deserved. But he was too afraid of them. If he had to part from this world, he would have preferred any other way, but that one.

  He didn’t have much. He was never a hoarder. He had a few things that he kept for safety and usefulness and even fewer things that actually mattered to him. He grabbed a shirt, a sweater, some trousers, a winter coat and many socks. He didn’t even know how the weather was up there nor how to dress. He picked up his torch and some batteries, what was left in his fridge, his keys, his phone with its charger, his wallet and the map with the area around his grandpa’s cabin. He had tried to jot down some notes on how to get to the place as he knew that his phone would have been useless when in the forest.

  Lastly, he reached for his gun. His hand shivered at the touch of the grip. His hold was shaky. It almost fell from his hands. He had not touched it since…

  He wanted to bury it with her, but he knew he might eventually need it so he had resolved to keep it. He stuck it in the backpack and he was good to go. Well he was not actually good, he was just enduring. But he sure as hell had to go.